


What If?

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Violence, Severina's April 2019 Requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: So close to losing what he held most dear, Lord Masamune reflects on the relationship between him and his loyal retainer and vows never again to take such devotion for granted.





	What If?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam/gifts).



> This was written for Sam, my sister, as a request for the month of April 2019.

Even now he couldn’t bring himself to remember how it had felt, the reverberations of his sword as he had struck Kojuro’s blade far, far away, pelting it into the wooden beam even though he wished it could have gone further, that childlike hope – out of sight, out of mind. But even now it was far from out of mind, much to his own steadily increasing dread. He’d barked at him, his right eye, his closest and dearest friend, and berated him for even thinking about slicing his own gut open for, as he had put it, a “mistake.”

Date Masamune knew full well that it was he that was the deviant from the norm. In any other case, a Lord would have demanded for their retainer to do exactly that – to gut themselves upon the floor for allowing themselves to be captured by the enemy, bringing shame to his name. And yet, to Kojuro, there was no norm, and there was no standard set of rules – there was only his Lord Masamune. 

He was the law and the light, when it came down to it – and in such a precarious position, Kojuro would believe what was told to him – not because he was gullible, or because he was not nearly perceptive enough (heavens knew that the very opposite was true instead), but because it was all he had _left_ at this point. And likewise, Kojuro was all Masamune himself had left.

They were two halves of a precarious archway, leaning against one another, and without one, the other would fall. That part had become painfully obvious during Kojuro’s absence – and not because Masamune had felt his own leadership thrown into question, but because the void left was simply so _large_ that it had quickly become insurmountable. He did not dare, of course, to presume that Kojuro had realized the very same thing – if anything the dragon’s right eye was more capable of surviving on its own than the dragon itself.

Where would he be if Kojuro had _not_ been found, if he had decided not to wait before going through with that terrible process? What would have happened then – the men looked up to Kojuro just as much as Masamune himself did, despite all of the efforts that he had made _not_ to be a burden upon his friend ever since he was small.

He shuffled to the edge of the porch, deciding to remain unnoticed for now and quietly folding his legs underneath him. Kojuro’s jacket lay folded up in front of him, and when he raised his head, there was the man himself, going through a series of controlled, powerful strikes just as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. Masamune knew better.

He was imagining Takenaka Hanbei in front of him again, just as coolly collected, the gentle reassuring smile promising nothing but a world of torment if compliance was not delivered _immediately._ He was imagining being faced with that ultimatum again – become our strategist, Lord Hideyoshi would have much use for your skills – and he would remember that moment where time had stood still, desiring nothing more than to go back, to travel back to that moment and cut the man down on the spot for even _suggesting_ such a thing. It had been easier with Mitsuhide, whose crimes were numerous, who would lick his own bloody blades clean, who would find ecstasy in destruction. Hanbei had made him pause.

No betrayal. No dedication. Again he faced off the right-hand man of that who was the Date’s sworn enemy, and somehow, _somewhere,_ he had let his guard down. It was what Masamune had admired about him so, his refusal to sacrifice his humanity, the vulnerability that made one’s soul so priceless. 

I apologize for my weakness, Masamune-dono.

“Don’t you _dare.”_ Masamune clenched his fists where they rested in his lap, the words barely more than a whisper and yet more taxing than anything he had ever done. He should not treat his dearest and most dedicated friend with such harshness and it was unspeakable of him to have done so – and yet was it not unspeakable, Masamune reasoned, for Kojuro to see nothing _worth_ preserving in himself? Not of his fault, surely – it was the universe’s cruel design, perhaps, or god forbid it was Masamune himself who had instilled such a thought.

He would never forgive himself, and Kojuro _would_ not hear his apologies and admissions, faithful to a fault.

“Masamune-dono.” 

He’d not even realized that he’d gathered Kojuro’s coat into his lap until then, clutching to it like a blanket in the winter for a warmth that was more than just skin-deep. He was a child again, scared of the dark, the storms, what would happen to him when he lost his eye. And Kojuro, again, was there. Almost reluctantly, he held his friend’s jacket out to him, as if presenting it, when in reality he knew that it was in lieu of their standard clipped greeting to one another because if he spoke now, then he _would_ end up weeping.

However, as he looked up, as he finally saw the concern on Kojuro’s face, the creased brow and subtle alarm, Masamune realized that his efforts had all been in vain anyways. The left side of his face was damp, his throat rigid and tight, guilty as charged. _I'm sorry._ You deserve better so much better and yet anything he would say would end with Kojuro apologizing for some nonexistent fault that he was convinced he had, and the possibility that Masamune himself had been the one to enforce it – even if it had only been in jest – sank low into his stomach like a bundle of rocks. 

“I will always,” and before Masamune could even realize it Kojuro had sat beside him, taking the jacket from him and turning him by his shoulders – he was a scared boy again, scared of losing everything he had, and he clung to Kojuro just as Kojuro clung to him, each bearing the other’s weight, “follow you.”

I will not leave. I will not dare to leave not while you are alive I know you cannot live without me I know you cannot continue as I know that I myself cannot Masamune-dono please _listen to me_ there was a coarse, calloused hand on his face, his friend’s thumb swiping away the tears as the last of his resolve broke as he fell forwards and buried his face into Kojuro’s shoulder and sobbed like a child.

I will not leave. I will not leave. His tears were of relief.


End file.
